Blackheart (28 page)

How could Lochlanaire be so callous to his death? Siren staggered to the window, tears stinging to her soul. “This…is madness.”

Lochlanaire halted behind Siren and caressed her shivering shoulders. “My death resolves everything. You’ll live, Siren.
Our
child will live. I’ll dwell within that babe.”

Tears drenching her heart, Siren scoured her mind for another answer.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Where Evil Hovers

With Siren freed of her manacles and chains, Thorn raided the
Royal,
ordering his men to overturn every table and chair. Nothing of her presence did he find. He damned the phantom for the detestable crime. Under Thorn’s demand to search her ship, Aynore gave her acceptance, granted no choice, or he’d question her allegiance. Lochlanaire and Siren took haven in the captain’s quarters behind a false wall where Aynore sheltered the bounty she took upon plundering a ship. They were safely disguised to the jittery, bloodshot glare of Thorn and his men.

Infuriated at retrieving no evidence by which to regain his treasure, Thorn throttled Aynore’s throat and shoved her against her quarter’s window, seething, “You freed Siren, Aynore. You must have. Did you help Lochlanaire as a traitor?”

Aynore shook her head. “No, Thorn. The phantom must have sown trickery. I profess innocence.”

Thorn released Aynore and stomped to the cabin’s center. “I’m to meet that nefarious goblin in mere hours, slittin’ his throat.” He clenched bloodless fists.

Aynore soothed, watching him tread a jagged knife’s edge, “You must rest, Thorn. Come, I’ll escort you to quarters. The men will continue the hunt for Siren without you. They’ll unveil her sanctuary. Come.”

Cajoled by Aynore’s assurance, Thorn allowed her to lead him from the cabin.

At Thorn’s departure, Lochlanaire and Siren pitched open the wall that fortified their sanctuary, and cautiously they stepped. Lochlanaire drifted to the window. The sky began to brighten, the sun gaining in its defiance of darkness. Blood-red rays warned of depravities to be inherited this day.

Lochlanaire’s heartbeats began to wane.

“Lochlanaire, I absolve you,” Siren softly whispered.

He faced her. “What did you say?”

“Of my mother’s murder, of what you were to obtain for reward in surrendering me to King William…I forgive you.” Siren sat on the bed, her eyes downcast to her laced hands.

“How do you?” Lochlanaire hunched at Siren’s feet; he lifted her gaze to bewitch his.

“You’ve spared my life countless times when you bore no cause.”

“You were an oppressor’s innocent pawn, Siren. I’ve done little but use you in order to save myself.” Reviled by his revelation, Lochlanaire straightened.

Siren grasped his fingers. “And I’ve used you. I seduced you for the purpose of conceiving your child. Now, if you sacrifice yourself to Zore, our babe will never know its father.”

A sly smiled engaged Lochlanaire’s lips. “You’ll tell the child about me. But dispatch the tale of my villainy in bowing to the king as his huntsman. It bodes of ugliness.” Wrenching his eyes off hers, he wandered to the desk.

Siren moved behind Lochlanaire and slithered her arms around him, cupping his satin-swathed chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder. “It vows of knightly valor, Lochlanaire. You relinquished your soul to the king’s every whim. You’re now going to forfeit your life for mine and Shevaun’s to Zore. You’re courageous above all men.”

“Courage bears little to do with it, Siren. I simply cannot permit you to die.” Choked, his fingers fondled hers.

Siren urged him to confront her. Standing on her toes, she kissed him, lustful for Lochlanaire with every beat of her heart. He swept her between his arms and Lochlanaire hastened to the bed. Discarding their clothing, in a fury they were eclipsed by fiery passion, her willowy legs bracing his lustily writhing, naked body as he raided hers with thrusts that seized them in heavenly glory. Lochlanaire’s fingers gripped Siren’s and they met their release in starlit splendor, his lips kissing her arched throat.

***

By dawn’s villainous break, he gazed upon his gorgeous wife who peacefully slept next to him. Lochlanaire caressed Siren’s bare stomach and he kissed the flesh protecting his child, whispering, “Lord, embrace this innocent woman in your loving arms. Comfort her, shield her from evil. This day, I sacrifice my life for my wife and our child. I walk to my death loving Siren and only her. Forgive my sacrileges and the bloodshed I’ve reaped against mortal man.” Easing off the bed, Lochlanaire dressed, lacing his sable linen breeches, wearing a black satin shirt and thigh high boots. He knotted a red sash over the scabbard, which holstered a sword buckled around his waist. His pistol he sheathed at his hip. Attention lured to his sleeping wife anew, Lochlanaire kissed her alluring lips one last time. Siren snuggled the bedclothes, whispering his name, which ripped through his soul. “I love you, Siren. Never doubt.” Lochlanaire abandoned the cabin, forsaking the tears battering his heart.

Lochlanaire whipped on the floor length cloak and trudged the ship to the lowered longboat where it awaited his rowing attention, swaying in swirling waters. He jumped within the vessel and dipped the oars to sweep frothy water, creeping along biting shoals and jagged coral reefs. Lochlanaire landed the boat footfalls shy of the ring of stones where he intended to rendezvous with Thorn. Jumping ashore, Lochlanaire tethered the craft. Lured somehow, his eyes were seduced to the ships gloriously painting the blood red horizon. Divinely gracing the
Ranger’s
stem stood Siren. She wore a satiny dressing gown, ebony hair draped her body, and her tear-welled eyes besieged Lochlanaire’s. Siren clenched a rigging rope and pulled herself to stand on the ship’s rim. Lochlanaire blackened his heart and ripped himself away from the angelic beauty. He pierced the spiked monoliths that would soon bear witness to his doom.

Striding to the circle known as the spear, Lochlanaire saw no one.

Thorn suddenly swaggered alongside a tall rock pillar, leering. But just as he was about to raise his pistol, Zore strolled into the ring directly behind Lochlanaire. The two stood together in an obvious alliance of defiance. Thorn realized he’d been tricked. “You swore to meet only
me
, Lochlanaire,” Thorn scolded.

“No. No, I distinctly said
we
would meet at dawn, Thorn. I never said I’d be alone.”

“You despise Lochlanaire as much as I, Zore. Why not ally with me and we’ll cut Lochlanaire down together,” Thorn asked of Zore, hopeful to tip the debauchery in his favor.

Zore cackled. “No, Thorn. Lochlanaire lives. He’s my captive. He’s sacrificin’ himself to save Shevaun. I’m just here to witness your duel.”

“Liar. You’re here to arrest the treasure,” Thorn damned.

Before Thorn could speak of the
Royal
as being the treasure Zore pursued, Lochlanaire shattered their conversation, “Are you going to fight me, Thorn, or just chatter with Zore?”

“My name is
Wolf
, Lochlanaire, and yes, I’m here to hack you to pieces.” Drawing his sword along its scabbard, Thorn confronted Lochlanaire, though his crazed eyes flicked to Zore. He suspected that Zore might oppose the battle.

Lochlanaire flipped his cloak backwards and rose his sword, pointing it at Thorn, grinning. Thorn swiped his sun-splashed weapon, and their sharp blades clanged, sparks flew. Afar, Zore bore witness to his brothers’ battle. As Lochlanaire lunged his blade, crossing toward the heavens, Thorn shifted, daring to slice Lochlanaire’s chest. Ere Thorn could conquer with his deadly blow, Zore shot Thorn, slicing his throat. Blood surged with Thorn’s demented screech. Outraged, Thorn clenched his pistol and fired, shooting Lochlanaire’s shoulder, bolting him to stagger and drop his sword. Aynore split the stones and shot Thorn in his side, for she and Siren crossed into the spear, having rowed ashore, desperate to end the duel.

Zore wrestled with Lochlanaire, jerking him to stand. He lanced downward the pistol Lochlanaire grappled to raise against him. The weapon was thrown to the sand and never shot. Zore challenged Aynore, who clenched her spent, smoking pistol, realizing her folly. She couldn’t shoot Zore and liberate Lochlanaire from his brother’s betrayal.

Pain infused his body, Lochlanaire stuttered, “Shevaun…release…Shevaun.”

Zore whistled. Shevaun was presented, for she’d been sheltered behind a godly tall spire. At Zore’s approval, the pirate restraining her arm freed her. Shevaun ran to Siren, but Siren’s teary eyes remained spellbound by Lochlanaire’s. He floundered just to stand and blood stained his shirt.

Thorn gasped for his breath, flopped on his knees and groped for his sword. Furiously, he threw the weapon, slitting the air. Zore saw the sword from the corner of his eye and whirled Lochlanaire to confront the weapon. Lochlanaire’s leg was brutally impaled. His feral screech echoed.

Zore wrenched the sword from Lochlanaire’s thigh and threw the blade to whip. It lanced Thorn’s heart. As Thorn clasped the weapon’s bloodying length, he collapsed on the altar stone, his eyes locked over those of the woman he knew deceived him. Sputtering his dying breath, he muttered, “Ayynnoorre…”

Zore faced Siren, Shevaun and Aynore, his knife tip pierced Lochlanaire’s throat. He began to step backward. Zore availed of his prey for protection. “Sail after me, Aynore, and Lochlanaire’s dead. I promise.”

“Zore,
please.
I beg for Lochlanaire’s life,” Siren beseeched.

Zore counseled, “We garnered an accord, Siren. Lochlanaire’s life is mine. Run while you can.”

Siren screamed for Lochlanaire and fell on her knees, agonized.

Lochlanaire was dragged away. Zore’s mischievous laughter defiled the breeze.

Aynore hunched next to Siren, who sobbed. “We sail, Siren. Once Zore heaves anchor and is long away to sight, we sail. You must thread together the pieces of your love for Lochlanaire, and we’ll save him. Come, you’ve a ship to captain. The
Royal
is yours.”

“How, Aynore, can we save Lochlanaire, tell me this? He’s imprisoned in the stranglehold of a demon who wants nothing more than to spill his blood. How do we spare my husband’s life?”

“Zore sails to England, Siren. He schemes to relinquish Lochlanaire to the entrapment of viciousness endowed by King William’s noose. We’ll barter for Lochlanaire’s life. You’ll see. He’ll be spared,” consoled Aynore.

“Will he survive the wounds Thorn inflicted?”

“Lochlanaire’s a titan assassin. He’s survived worse and his desperation for you empowers. Come.”

Siren swiped the tears away and stood. Soothed by the comforting arms of Aynore and Shevaun, Siren took one step and then another, strengthening her miserable soul. Valor fired. She peered upon the regal, gold-glistening
Royal
that awaited her rule.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Captain Siren

In sailing from Satan’s Labyrinth, Zore tended Lochlanaire’s oozing wounds but meagerly. He cared little if his brother died from the loss of blood or infection. Below decks, as a dog doomed to death, Lochlanaire was shackled by his brother in irons that rubbed his ankles, throat and wrists raw. Zore refused to lose his prey should he somehow free himself. Bonny England awaited. It was time for Lochlanaire to hang.

Aboard the
Vengeance’s
bridge, Zore currently stood, his spyglass surveying the seas for any daring pirate ships, which might affront. In his sights, he did not see the
Ranger
or the
Royal
, smiling with his deviousness. Sadly, he couldn’t be certain that Grayson did not lurk in wait somewhere aboard
Satan’s
Victory.
He ordered his men alert and heavily armed.

Meanwhile…

Aboard the
Royal,
Siren felt immeasurable relief, for
Satan’s
Victory
sailed into the ships’ sights with Grayson standing as the ship’s captain, just as they were about to cast sail from Satan’s Labyrinth. Although, she desperately wished that he’d arrived earlier. Perhaps then they could have spared Lochlanaire and seized Zore’s life. Now, Grayson rowed his longboat to the
Royal.
He boarded the ship and strode straight to her. Siren knew she must explain everything to him. She longed for a reprieve.

“Where is Lochlanaire?” Grayson asked, uneasy, for his brother remained fretfully absent.

Siren pitched her attention to the men awaiting her command and yelled, “Drag aboard the longboat. Slice the anchor. Away the sails.”

“What the devil? You’re captain?”

Siren pondered Grayson. “Lochlanaire was wounded by Thorn in a duel and is now prisoner aboard Zore’s ship. He’s sailed for Britain. Aynore and I sail for the island ourselves. I presume you will desire to follow, or else you must jump ship, for we’re departing this moment, Grayson.”

“Wait…Lochlanaire is Zore’s
captive
?”

“Yes. Lochlanaire sacrificed himself to Zore in an accord. Zore promised to release Shevaun once Thorn died, which Zore did. Unfortunately, Zore imprisoned Lochlanaire aboard his ship and we couldn’t oppose him. Zore plots to surrender Lochlanaire to King William, swearing to the bloody monarch that Lochlanaire killed me in treason as he sought King James II’s treasure. Zore is utterly unaware that the treasure is actually this ship I presently sail.”

“All of your words are certain?”

“Yes. Shevaun affirms Zore’s deceit. He confided in her. Lochlanaire assumed that Zore would want him alive so he could witness his death at King William’s command. Zore schemes to receive all of the reward Lochlanaire was to obtain after my relinquishment to the king,” gravely professed Siren.

Grayson waved to the men aboard
Satan’s
Victory
, giving them the signal to pursue the
Ranger
and the
Royal.
“You bear no expertise in sailin’ a ship, Siren.”

“And such is why I’m begging you to stand as my quartermaster. Please, Grayson, I require your skill. The men aboard
Satan’s
Victory
are surely seasoned sufficiently for you to assist me until we reach England.”

Grayson considered and then nodded. “Aye. I accept.” He mulled further. “Lochlanaire’s injuries?”

Siren turned the tiller in the direction Grayson pointed, for he searched for their bearing on gold gilded instruments. “He was shot in the shoulder and Thorn’s sword pierced his leg.”

“Zore shall pay little heed to his wounds, uncarin’ if Lochlanaire lives or dies. His lifeless body shall be adequate evidence for Zore to achieve his venomous gains.”

Siren fought to assuage her terror at Grayson’s grim description. “Will Lochlanaire survive the wounds, Grayson? Tell me truthfully.”

“It depends on how strong he is and how stubbornly he craves to survive. I believe Lochlanaire’s love for you will strengthen him immensely.”

“His love?”

“You never saw it, Siren. Lochlanaire, however, loves you.”

Tears flooded Siren’s stricken eyes. “I’m terrified that I may never hear those words from him because of Zore’s wickedness.” Siren wished to have confessed of her love for Lochlanaire, horrified that she would never be gifted the day for which to drop to her knees and proclaim her feelings. Forcing herself to captaining the
Royal
, Siren glanced backward toward the two ships, dipping in her wake. Praying, Siren whispered to herself, “Please, God, spare my love. My life and our child’s depend on Lochlanaire’s survival. My heart cannot beat for a moment without him. Help me save my love.”

Sunlight spread an angelic glow between fluffy clouds and twinkled over the signet Siren wore. The ruby flared blood red, splashing the hand that ensnared the ship’s tiller.

Deviously she smiled. Siren unveiled the answer.